Love, Age Ten
by LondonBelow
Summary: Faramir breaks from work for a moment with his son.


Disclaimer: It's not mine. This is only a bit of fun. Please don't sue me… pretty please?

Faramir son of Denethor, Prince of Ithilien and Lord of Emyn Arnen, stared at a handful of dried peas. He had six piles—no, seven piles—no… Faramir sighed and scooped all the peas into one pile. Some of the warrior life had drained from his hands: they were soft now and more accustomed to gentler things. Some reflexes would never be forgot, though, and their shape would fade only with great age.

He looked again to his chart and considered splitting everything evenly down the middle over and over. But Faramir was not foolish or lazy enough to do this and, knowing so, set again to dividing the peas. Each pea represented a given amount of funding. The year was once again at its end, the new year approaching, and Faramir had his work cut out, as usual.

The hinges on the door squealed, and Faramir raised his eyes, an excuse ready on his lips. ("I need only another hour, if I may; these are not simple matters, so please you, Sire, and…") But no impatient king stood in the doorway, only a small boy, frozen mid-wince. He looked much like Faramir, but many years younger, with a rounder face and blue eyes like his mother's. He had the same ready blush, too, now painting his cheeks.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I only meant to see if you were busy—and it appears you are. I apologize…"

"Elboron," Faramir interjected, his tone carefully stern enough only that Elboron would not think to disobey. "Come here, please."

Elboron shuffled over. Apparently he had chosen a miserable time to visit. That was his luck lately. He had been caught daydreaming during lessons twice in the past week—Elboron's fault and he'd be the first to say so, but being caught was ill luck nonetheless—and the last illness to befall him came with his father in Minas Tirith on business. If Elboron knew anything, it was to go to his father for cuddling and sympathy. His mother favored more of a 'fight through the pain' approach to all things.

Now he had interrupted his father likely during some significant moment, when Faramir could least afford his concentration to be broken. "I truly am sorry," Elboron insisted.

Faramir swept his son into a tight hug, sending them both into laughter. "How do you yet fall prey to my tricks, Elboron?" Faramir teased. He kissed Elboron's brow. "I haven't had a new one in ten years, have I? You only humor me, hm?"

Elboron grinned. "Yes," he replied. He hesitated, then asked, "Are you horribly busy?"

"Yes. Horribly. What is it you need?" Faramir asked.

For a moment Elboron hesitated and his blush returned to his cheeks. He climbed onto his father's lap and settled there, for once grateful to have been an early-born child. Elboron was small enough yet to be cuddled and fussed over. "Papa, have you ever," he began, then fell silent. Elboron took a deep breath and once more began, "Have you ever… have you ever kissed a, a girl?"

Faramir smiled. He had been wondering when this question would arise; rather, he had wondered when this series of questions would arise. Kissing for now, however, was perfectly sufficient. Faramir had no desire to explain to Elboron how he came into being. "Yes, I kiss your mother quite often," Faramir replied.

"Well… I mean a real girl."

Faramir raised an eyebrow. "In what way is your mother not a real girl?" he asked. After Elboron floundered a moment, Faramir asked, "Elboron, is there a girl you want to kiss?"

Elboron grinned and nodded.

"Have you spoken with her? It's not nice when you have those feelings and don't tell someone," Faramir reminded him. Elboron shook his head. "You haven't told her. Well, what have you done instead?"

"I punched her in the arm and put a frog in her bed," Elboron replied.

It took all Faramir's diplomatic ability not to show his conflicting emotions, a strong mix of amusement and fascination. At last he replied, "Of course you did." Because what says love like a ten-year-old leaving a frog in a girl's bed? "And what did she do?"

Elboron's grin widened. "She threw an apple at my head and rinsed my underthings with ink. I know it was her, Papa, because her hands were dark."

"Ah. This will be Eledhwen then," Faramir concluded. He had seen the darkened shade of her forearms as well.

Elboron nodded. Adults could be strange, but he understood his father most of the time, and his father understood him. "Right, but I cannot say if she likes me that way. I wanted to ask you how to know."

"Well… you tell her that you like her," Faramir explained, "and you ask her if you might hold her hand, and if you are very lucky she says yes. If she says no, you have to accept that. Has she said anything to you?"

"A few things. What do you do with a girl after hand-holding and kissing?" Elboron asked.

Faramir pondered this. How much did he want his son to know? He remembered how his thoughts had changed after one night when he was sixteen and a very tipsy Boromir provided a slurred explanation with a number of (extremely inaccurate) drawings. Elboron deserved a few more years' innocence.

"We'll discuss that when you're older."

"How much older?" Elboron asked.

Faramir hugged Elboron. "Humor your father, Elboron, and remain my little boy a while longer, would you?" he asked.

Elboron squirmed, not trying to free himself from his father's arms. He felt he should put up a fuss. "Papa," he protested.

"Mmm. Tell you what, Elboron, you remain my sweet, innocent child and you may stay up an hour past bedtime."

Elboron smiled his most angelic smile.

_fin_


End file.
